"Ugh, what rotten fucking luck."
With the battle over, Little Ghost stood atop one of the wagons in the convoy, surveying the surroundings from his perch.
The longer he looked, the harder it became to hold back his curses.
Everywhere Little Ghost looked, almost all the pairs of draft horses hitched to the wagons had been killed. Only a handful with steadier temperaments had avoided panicking and bolting, managing to survive the players' gunfire.
Besides those five draft horses, the only animals in the convoy capable of pulling wagons were the three mules and an old yellow ox bringing up the rear.
The mules belonged to other players and carried packs of spare weapons. The old yellow ox had been intended as tonight's dinner, but judging by the situation, it would get to live.
Even with the five surviving horses, all the mules, and the ox, they still didn't have enough animals to pull the wagons. At least half the wagons would be left without a team.
"Fucking bastards. If those bandits wanted a fight, fine, but why did they have to kill the horses first?"
After surveying the convoy, Little Ghost's anger blazed so fiercely that it practically shot from his eyes.
To be fair, Wallace and his men had attacked the horses mainly because, before launching their ambush, they had noticed that although Home Alone's party was small, its members radiated an unmistakable toughness. One glance told them these were seasoned bandits.
So Wallace had decided to shoot the horses first, frightening the draft animals and throwing these hardened bandits into disarray.
Then the armored, axe-wielding Giant Bear Assault Squad would charge in, supported from behind by muskets, bows, and crossbows, attacking at both close and long range.
This tactic was nothing fashionable, but as long as they